


Millions

by franks_hands



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: High School AU, M/M, Prep School AU, art school au, slight age gap
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-30
Updated: 2016-03-30
Packaged: 2018-05-30 00:40:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6400657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/franks_hands/pseuds/franks_hands
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The next time Gerard talks to Frank, it’s three weeks into the semester, in the boy’s restroom at the end of the math hall, after intermediate algebra. Gerard’s scrubbing paint off of his hands from two class periods ago when Frank enters and looks around, under all the stalls.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Millions

**Author's Note:**

> This is part of a (long) short story I'm currently working on, and I've just finished this part and thought that it was sort of able to stand alone. If the story seems unfinished, like it's missing important information, or if it just doesn't make any damn sense, that would be why. I plan on deleting this and re-posting with the rest of the story in the future, and possibly changing the title, so look out for that. Enjoy!

The boy down the hall is named Frank, says Mikey. 

Gerard blinks. “Um.”

“Thought I’d save you some trouble. I saw you looking.” Before Gerard can object, Mikey goes off again, “He seemed nice enough when I knocked on his door, though I think his organization skills might be a problem for you. He actually  _ has _ some, is what I mean. But hey, it’s move-in week, so that could change, right? Even  _ you _ haven’t had a chance to turn your room into a pigsty yet. It looked like he was in the middle of putting up posters when I knocked. I spotted Black Flag. That’s a good sign. Oh, and I think he’s from Jersey.” 

Mikey’s giving Gerard this look that makes him want to ask if all this is going to be on the test. But instead he lies, “I wasn’t looking. He looked, like, fourteen, anyway.”

The younger brother rolls his eyes, “He’s gotta be at least fifteen to be enrolled here.” 

Gerard squints, “Fifteen isn’t much better than fourteen.” He makes a noise in the back of his throat, “And besides, he’s probably a freshman.” 

There’s a knock on the doorframe and the subject of conversation is peeking through the crack Mikey left at the door, the fucking bastard. Gerard takes a moment to glare at Mikey before giving Frank a small smile and pulling the door the rest of the way open.

There’s a jacket in Frank’s hand, one that Gerard recognizes as his own. He resists the urge to turn around and glare at Mikey again. 

“You, uh. Left this in my room.” Frank hands the jacket to Mikey. “Thought I should return it before you take off.” Mikey takes the jacket, grinning at his brother. Frank’s focus shifts to Gerard, who upon a closer look, realizes Frank could maybe be sixteen. “I’m Frank, by the way. I’m a freshman, in the Music Studies program. I play guitar.” 

Gerard folds his arms over his chest. “I’m Gerard.” 

A half-second of silence ensues before Mikey chirps in, “Senior. Visual arts with a focus on painting. He prefers comics, but there’s no actual program on that here. So, he’s studying painting and doing comics on the side. He’s really good, you should see--”

“Alright, he didn’t ask for my life story.” Gerard interrupts before Mikey can go on to details like  _ has never had a real boyfriend _ ,  _ lives in a single because of a slight drinking problem _ , or  _ has failed intermediate algebra two times _ .

Frank just laughs, and the big grin left on his face looks like something he never outgrew from childhood. “I don’t mind. That’s super cool, man. I love comics, I’ve got an original copy--” Another knock startles Frank and makes him whip around to the open doorway. 

Donna is standing there, hip cocked to the side. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but Mikey’s not going to make it to school tomorrow if we don’t leave right now.” 

Mikey mutters, “I don’t mind missing,” but Donna is already pulling Gerard into a tight squeeze and reminding him to take care of himself and do his laundry regularly this year. And then, after a long minute when Donna has freed Gerard from her grasp, it’s Mikey’s turn. Suddenly there’s something in his throat.

Gerard sighs, “Hey kid, c’mere.” They hug. Frank wonders if he should slip out the door quietly and when he hears Mikey talk, muffled by Gerard’s shoulder, sounding like he might be crying, he does. 

“I wish this dumb school was in Jersey.” Mikey grumbles, pulling away from the hug.

Gerard nods, he agrees. Being in Chicago makes him feel completely severed from all of his loved ones some nights. “I know. But hey, only two more semesters and then I’m at SVA. That’s only a thirty-minute drive.” 

They both know if they draw this out any longer, their mom will get impatient. “I love you, G. I’ll see you at Christmas.” 

 

 

As Gerard’s luck would have it, Frank, the freshman, is in Gerard’s intermediate algebra class. He’s been prepared for being in a class surrounded by a bunch of sophomores--he’d done it last year, as well--but he’s not prepared when he sees Frank, the  _ freshman _ , in the corner of Mrs. Wilkin’s classroom, chatting with Pete Wentz as if the two have been friends for a decade. 

Pete and Gerard have been friends since the two roomed together Gerard’s sophomore year, and he’s one of the few long-term friends Gerard has managed to make at Academy For The Arts. He’s also the only other upperclassman in this class, and so Gerard is faced with no other option but to sit next to Pete in the cramped back corner of Mrs. Wilkin’s room. Frank grins at him as he sits down.

“Your brother told me you were a little behind on your general ed courses. I guess he was right.” 

Frank’s tone was light-hearted and joking, but Gerard, his shitty coffee machine having broken when he needed it the most, wasn’t in the mood. “What did you two do? Sit down and have a heart-to-heart over a cup of tea? Jesus, you’d never even met before.” Frank frowns at Gerard’s bitterness, but before he can speak again, class is started. 

 

 

The next time Gerard talks to Frank, it’s three weeks into the semester, in the boy’s restroom at the end of the math hall, after intermediate algebra. Gerard’s scrubbing paint off of his hands from two class periods ago when Frank enters and looks around, under all the stalls.

Gerard stares at the suds between his hands. He’s been avoiding contact with Frank ever since day three of the semester, when Pete started an unnecessary game of Fuck, Marry, Kill before Mrs. Wilkin’s arrived, and threw Gerard’s name into one of the rounds, giving him a little nudge and a snicker. Gerard had stared forward, willing the teacher to arrive so that he wouldn’t have to hear Frank’s answer. But he wouldn’t hear Frank’s answer, anyway, because he could hear him writing it down on a piece of paper, and then could hear Pete whisper, “ _ Dude _ ,” and laugh under his breath. 

See, the whole problem was that Mikey had been right. Gerard  _ was _ looking at Frank. Because Frank was attractive and he wore a ring in his lip and his uniform shirt was always a little too tight and his slacks were even tighter and he liked good music and he played guitar and his fucking smile made Gerard want to tell a million terrible jokes, just so that he’d never have to see it go away. But Frank was a freshman, he was fifteen--or sixteen--and if Gerard made a move, he’d look like a fucking creep. 

When Gerard couldn’t draw out washing his hands any longer and the suds were all gone, Frank was staring at him in the mirror.

“Do you need something?” Gerard asked, shutting the faucet off. 

Frank seemed to think for a moment, stuffing his hands in the pockets of his slacks. He tried to suppress a giggle and that wide grin ripped through his composure, “Yeah.” 

Gerard stares in the mirror, his hands hanging over the sink, dripping, cooling and drying slowly in the open air. He waits for an explanation, but instead he gets, “I’m old for my grade. I turn sixteen on Halloween.”

Gerard wants to say something like ‘did I ask?’, but instead he just continues to stare, continues to let his hands drip.

Frank grins again, “I heard you and your brother debating my age. Y’know, during move-in.” Gerard’s eyes snap back down to his hands and he busies himself with the paper towel dispenser to his left. Frank follows him.

“We weren’t talking about  _ you _ .”

Even though Gerard can’t see him in the mirror anymore, he knows Frank is still grinning. “Who were you talking about, then?” 

Gerard thinks quick, blurting out the first name he can think of. “Percy. I--I share a suite with him.” Gerard happens to know that Percy is, for a fact, seventeen years old, but Frank doesn’t have to know that.

Frank mutters, “Hmm.” He stays silent as Gerard dries his hands off and tosses the paper towel in the trash. He thinks for a second that he’s off the hook, that he can make his escape and bolt for the door, but then Frank’s moving in on him, cutting into Gerard’s path to freedom. The grin is finally gone, Gerard realizes, but it’s replaced with a look that Gerard isn’t familiar with, and he thinks it might be worse. Frank’s eyes are wide and there’s a red tint layered underneath the skin on his cheeks. Gerard has an involuntary thought about how he’d go about painting that color on a canvas, and the next thing he knows, Frank’s got a hand pressing on the back of Gerard’s neck, and he’s trying to kiss him.

Trying and succeeding. Gerard closes his eyes tight, as if opening them and  _ seeing _ exactly who he was kissing would make this all even worse than it already is. He kisses Frank back because he doesn’t know what else to do--he could pull away, he could shove Frank to the side and make his escape. But neither of those options seemed particularly appealing, with Frank’s fingers combing at the hairs at the nape of Gerard’s neck, with that pressure pulling Gerard’s lips down, toward Frank’s. The weight seemed heavier than anything Gerard had ever felt. 

And then there’s Frank’s hand on the back of Gerard’s, soft and caressing for a moment, like he’s going to intertwine their fingers, but in a split second decision decides to instead guide Gerard’s palm to the front of his slacks.

Gerard finally pulls away, past the point of trying to hide how embarrassingly out of breath he is, and he’s about to lecture Frank on the concept of consent, but his brain feels fuzzy and he finds that all he can sputter out is, “I--I--you’re. Um.” 

“Yeah, so are you.” Gerard comes to the sudden realization that his whole front is pressed against Frank’s, with the exception of the area separated by Frank’s hand on his hand, which is still held against Frank’s crotch. 

The contact evaporates as quickly as it came about, though, when Frank steps back and then around Gerard, maintaining eye contact all while kicking a stall open and stepping inside. Gerard just stares, Frank clears his throat. He’s a little out of breath as well. “Are we doing this out there, where someone could see, or would you prefer a little more privacy?” 

Frank’s words spill out easy and lazy, as if he’s said them a million times, as if he says them with the utmost confidence. A wave of  _ he’s done this before _ washes over Gerard, and he’s not sure why he’s so surprised. He guesses he’s built up this image of Frank in his head, that he’s  _ too young _ ,  _ too innocent _ ,  _ too inexperienced _ to become involved with. But the strength in Frank’s stance is the image of  _ experienced _ . 

It takes a bit more prodding, a quick quirk of the eyebrow, a little smirk, and a, “Unless you don’t want to…” before Gerard can move, but then he does. He doesn’t know how, but somehow Frank has the stall locked, arms wrapped around Gerard’s waist. Gerard takes Frank’s head in his hands in a flash of determination, and he tips it to the side to suck on the soft skin at Frank’s neck. Frank moans and says something about wanting to feel that forever, but Gerard has other plans, and in a minute more he carries them out, sinking to his knees.

When Frank’s done, gasping and moaning and whispering Gerard’s name, he jacks Gerard off inside of his pants with an enthusiasm Gerard hasn’t seen in anyone else he’s ever fucked. It doesn’t take long before Gerard is coming in his pants, pushing his head against Frank, locking their lips again, kissing and kissing until the high is over and he can start to breathe normal. 

Frank is the one to pull away, finally, whispering something about the mess in Gerard’s pants and then looking up at Gerard with wide eyes to say, “I want to do that to you.”

Gerard blinks, half-focused on zipping up his slacks again. “Do what?” 

Frank isn’t even concerned with tucking his shirt back in or zipping up his own pants. Gerard starts to do it for him. “I wanna blow you.” Gerard’s fingers twitch over the button and then he laughs.

“You should’ve said that before I came, asshole.” 

But Frank just grins, “Can I? Next time?” 

_ Next time _ , Gerard thinks, shaking his head in disbelief, “Yeah, sure. Next time we’re in the bathroom alone after algebra, you can blow me.”


End file.
